Heavensent
by mrdarcysmuse
Summary: Haven't we all imagined it? An Edith/Evelyn AU that is being launched cautiously into the wayward world of fanfiction.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the result of a crazy idea that's been in my head since Evelyn Napier first appeared in Season 1, Episode 3. I like to think of this as an Edith self-discovery story, more so than an Edith Oh-my-God-I-have-a-man romance. I appreciate all feedback, positive and negative._

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><p>July, 1917.<p>

"Who's that from?" Edith asked, as she walked down the long flight of stairs to the library.

Her sister Mary stood on the landing, leaning on the oak banister and frowning occasionally at a letter in her hand. She looked up at Edith, "I'm sorry. What?"

"That," Edith motioned towards the letter in Mary's hand.

"Oh. It's from Evelyn Napier. You remember him, don't you?" Mary replied casually.

"Yes, I do," Edith said, her thoughts churning rapidly back to the hunting party back in 1912.

"Well," Mary continued, "He's been wounded, and he's being treated at a hospital up in Middlesborough. He wants to come here to convalesce once he's released."

"That's odd. I didn't know he joined the army. Besides, I thought he'd rather had enough of us."

"You don't dislike him, do you?"

"No. I wouldn't say that."

Mary grasped the brass handle on the library door, pulling it open to the sound of agitated voices speaking and overlapping one another. She turned to Edith before entering. "Anyways, I'm going to ask Mama if he can come and stay."

To Edith, the name "Evelyn Napier" was yet another reminder of how inferior she sometimes felt in Mary's wake, not that she remembered much about the man in particular. He was merely "EN", the forgettable nobleman's son who was good-looking in his own right, but lusterless beside the beguiling Mr Pamuk. That he still wished to come to Downton after his last visit was beyond her comprehension. He must either be a fool or a lunatic. To Edith, Evelyn was the fish that slipped her sister's hook, but who was naive enough to return, risking recapture. He would fall within Mary's trap again, like a fly into a spider's web, and he would never recover, while Mary feigned ignorance at his obvious infatuation. Though she would never admit it, Edith envied Mary for this ability to make men fall in love with her left and right.

As stray thoughts spun themselves into a maze of musings, Edith saw Mary exit the library door, a look of glee on her face. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"Thank God Granny isn't here!" cried Mary, glancing around and chuckling. "Though I rather wish she were…You should have seen the look on Cousin Isobel's face."

"Heavens. I'm not sure if I ought to have asked." Edith raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Nevermind. Mama and Papa are _quite_ wonderful; they'll have Evelyn Napier come and stay if it _kills_ them, to make a point, you know, if for nothing else."

Edith tried to piece together Mary's hilarity and the unheard argument in the library. "So, I take it they argued with Cousin Isobel then?"

"And Doctor Clarkson. Papa actually told him to move the beds and patients out if he doesn't stop ordering everyone around."

"Papa wouldn't really do that…"

Mary rolled her eyes. "No, of course he wouldn't. He knows you enjoy being Florence Nightingale much more than you care to say." With that, she sauntered away.

The thing about Mary was how she always managed to make the most piercing observations, though she rarely cared to express her opinions kindly. Edith seethed over her sister's lack of compassion, but could not help admiring her daring nature, even in things as minute as an ironic witticism. They were so wildly different. Edith knew that Mary would have her way with poor Evelyn Napier and leave him as broken-hearted as she left Matthew; then she would go off, unrepentant, to court _vile _Sir Richard. Wryly, Edith comforted herself that at least one thing hadn't changed since the war.

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><p>On a bright morning only two weeks later, Mary did have her way, as she always did. Branson was to meet "The Honorable Captain Evelyn Napier" when he got off the train at half past two. He was able to walk, though no one at Downton had yet heard the details of his injury; he needed only a porter or two to carry his luggage off the station. When he arrived at Downton, he was met by Lord and Lady Grantham, Mary, and Edith.<p>

As the car door opened, Edith carefully appraised the man who alighted. He was still the same, mystery-clouded E.N. they all looked forward to meeting in 1912, though a bit less fresh-faced and much more somber. That was accounted for by a resolute, unwavering look in his eye, which spoke for the horrors of war. He now struggled down from the car, using only his left arm, as his right was slung in a tightly wrapped cast. He had assumed the soldier's habit of standing extremely upright and carrying himself with a marked rigidity. Yet the most remarkable change was his clothing: a green captain's uniform and a few badges replaced the silk lapels and starched shirtfronts from before the war.

"Lady Grantham," Evelyn called, as he advanced toward the front door, where everyone stood. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for this."

Taking his awkwardly extended left hand, Cora smiled. "It's so good of you to come. We're awfully glad to see an old face, aren't we, Mary?"

"Yes, of course," Mary beamed, as she watched Evelyn exchange greetings with Robert. No one had the heart to ask of his injury; since Downton became a convalescent home, they had seen a fair amount of war wounds. His was hardly traumatic enough to comment on.

"Lady Mary." Evelyn's voice was confident; this was a statement, an acknowledgement, and nothing more or less. "You look very well. How are you?"

Mary smiled again. "I'm so happy to see you safe and sound."

He now approached Edith with an uncertain look, and she wondered if he remembered her name.

"Lady Edith—" Evelyn ventured cautiously, letting out a sigh of relief upon receiving a sure smile from her. "We met the last time I was at Downton." He said this without a wince, as the memories of trenches far outweighed any of a disastrous hunting party five years ago.

Edith raised the corners of her lips in a tepid smile. "Yes, I remember." And what else was she supposed to say? _I'm so sorry that Mr Pamuk had died. __How did you hurt your arm? Why are you here at Downton, of all places? _Naturally, silence was the better option.

Cora placed a hand on Evelyn's left arm and started to lead everyone inside. "You'll find Downton quite changed, I'm afraid," she explained, "But you don't need to worry about anything. You can rest now if you'd like. I'll have one of the maids take care of your cases."

"How kind of you, Lady Grantham. But I assure you, I'd rather see the house and talk to some of the men before resting up," Evelyn said. "And I hope I won't be a burden on the convalescent arrangements, since this _is _a regional home."

"Don't worry about all that," said Robert, "Major Clarkson, who heads the local hospital, insisted that we couldn't have you come as a convalescing soldier, strictly speaking, so you'll be staying in one of the family guest rooms."

Seeing the surprised look on his face, Edith hastened to add, "They're much more comfortable, and quieter, too."

"You'll eat with us, of course," said Mary, "So you're really staying as our guest and not a convalescent _patient._"

Evelyn still looked uncomfortable. "But won't I be a strain on your household staff, Lady Grantham?"

"No, not at all," was Cora's firm answer.

"Well, you're only one person," said Mary, "Besides, Edith helps with the convalescing officers, and _she's _not household staff."

Evevlyn let out a hesitant laugh, a lightness pervading his person for the first time since he arrived. "I suppose not," he smiled, glancing at Edith.

* * *

><p>By teatime, Evelyn had settled into his new room, which overlooked the gardens. He gazed out onto the rows of gardenias and roses, leaning his left shoulder against the windowsill. <em>"I was wondering if you might show me the gardens before I go." <em>That was what he said last time to Mary, or at least, something to that effect. He could now chuckle at his childish attempt with good-natured self-deprecation, and marvel that he even committed such a fatuous remark to memory. Meeting Mary for the first time since before the war, Evelyn knew at once that everything had settled to a lukewarm friendship between them. This was exactly what he had hoped for: no awkward looks and certainly no reminisces of that hunting party. Coming to Downton would be a transition to his life before the war; he would be around military men as well as the Grantham family, who, to him, were safeguards of the "old ways".

As he let his mind wander into a past that no longer gave him grief, Evelyn did not notice the light patter of footsteps that stopped at his door. Edith was "doing her round", as Mary and Sybil called it, distributing books and stationary to the men. Though Evelyn wasn't part of the convalescent home, she decided to look in and see how he fared.

The door was a third open, and Edith could see the outline of the man who stood erect at the window, oblivious that a comfortable sofa rested just to his right. She had never stopped to study the face of "Mary's suitor" before. He was, simply stated, very handsome. His chiseled nose and pale profile exuded a soft, melancholy nature that was altered from the slightly affected, aristocratic mien that she remembered from 1912. The change was not at all unfitting. Gathering herself, Edith knocked lightly on the gaping door.

Evelyn started from his reverie and turned around, almost vigilantly.

"It's Edith. May I come in?"

"Yes, of course," he said, emerging from his mind into the guest room on the third floor of Downton Abbey.

Edith pushed open the door and took a few hesitant steps inside. "It's a cozy room you have up here. I think it's the first time I've seen it." She glanced around, until she could glance no more and had to look at him. "Anyways, I just wanted to see if you were settled in, and if there's anything I can get you. Anything at all."

"That's very kind of you. I'm settling in just fine. I'm quite enjoying the view of the gardens from here." Evelyn was slightly flustered; it was nearly three years since he last encountered "his set" in society. He scanned the room for a subject of conversation and set his eyes on the books in Edith's arms. "So you're the librarian then?"

"I suppose you could say that," Edith replied, relieved to be saying something to unburden the silence. "Is there anything you'd like to read?"

"I haven't read much of anything since the war, I'm afraid," he said, "Except reports and that sort of thing. What have you got there?"

Edith lifted the books up. "Let's see then. 'Barchester Towers,' 'Howard's End,' and a book of Bernard Shaw."

Evelyn smiled fondly at "Barchester Towers" but nearly flinched at "Bernard Shaw". "Sir Anthony Trollope," he sighed, "There's a name one doesn't think of in the trenches."

"Quite right, when you put it that way." Edith handed him the book.

He set it on the chair beside the window and looked back at her.

"I'm just going now," said Edith. "I'll see you at dinner." She turned around and started to walk out.

"Thank you, Lady Edith."

She glanced back at him. "Please, just Edith."

"Edith."


	2. Chapter 2

_At last, I've written Chapter Two! Watch out for a bit of Mary/Edith sisterly angst here! Also, I must make a confession. When I started writing this fanfic, I promised myself "lots of happiness, fluff, and...smut." Suffice it to say that I've got a long way to go; however, I swear there'll be more Evelyn/Edith development in the next chapter! Bear with, bear with! (Please blame my copy-editor for everything. Oh, wait...)_

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><p>"I suppose you'll actually have someone to see you in your frocks now," Mary said to Edith, as she and her two sisters dressed for dinner. Sybil had been summoned from her post to "welcome an old friend," and she changed her nurse's uniform for a shiny, turquoise dress. Mary wore a sable gown of intertwining satin and silk, her neck bejeweled in a series of dark beads and diamonds.<p>

For that evening, Edith preferred something less melodramatic—a dress of pale pink that complemented her rosy cheeks. She sat on the bed, pretending to read a book that she didn't know the title of. "You can speak for yourself," she replied. "He's not my fish to fry."

"You've already learned to drive; are you going to get Mrs. Patmore to teach you how to make fish and chips?" Mary laughed feebly at her own joke.

Ignoring her, Edith continued to stare at the page blotted with words she couldn't string into sentences.

Though Sybil couldn't at once decode their bickering, she wasn't naïve enough to think it was about a lower-class meal. "Would you care to tell me what 'fish and chips' have to do with anything?"

Mary sighed. "For once, I'm actually trying to do something good, and Edith won't let me," she said, like a petulant, complaining child.

Edith looked up. "Really, Mary. What do you mean?"

"Do you like Evelyn?"

"I hardly know him." This, after all, was the truth.

"Well, I can't see why you won't consider it—he's really very nice—"

"If he's nice, then why wouldn't you—The point is, I'm sure he'll fall in love with you again."

"Oh, Edith," Mary rolled her eyes at the two figures in the mirror, "You give me too much credit. He's not for me, and he doesn't even like me. We're so…different. Sybil, wouldn't you agree that he's much more suited to Edith?"

Sybil's eyes reflected more comprehension. "Is that why you asked him to come here and convalesce?"

Mary grinned. "He's an old friend that I wanted to patch up old fences with, if nothing else."

Edith gave a noncommital shrug. "I thought he was engaged."

"He was. To one of the Sempill girls," Mary said, "But he doesn't care to talk about all that. When I saw him in London before the war, he said it all came to nothing. He ended it, by the looks of it."

"But why?"

"Really, Edith," Mary scoffed.

Sybil got up with an air of exasperated amusement. "I'm going down. Are you two coming?"

Mary smiled. "Yes, in a minute."

The door closed with a metallic click, leaving only a mellowed silence in the room. Edith's thoughts drew her back now, ceaselessly, to the past, making her think suddenly of Sir Anthony Strallan. After months of forgetting the garden party in 1914, her feelings of hurt and misery returned like a crashing tide. This made her almost determined to hate Mary again. How could she ever forget the blasé comment that ruined her chance of marrying him? She tried to tell herself that it was all _a thing of the past_—a mere dalliance that ended abruptly and was smothered by the news of war with Germany. Yet she felt that she owed him something, something like sentiment, perhaps attachment? Edith couldn't help feeling that they might have been happy together. _Happy Enough._

"Edith, dear," Mary chattered away. She seemed to read Edith's thoughts. "It's been three years, and you know why it all fell through the way it did. I'm not proud, and you shouldn't be either. But really, couldn't it all turn out the right way now? It's not too late, after all."

_Happy Enough. _That was all Edith could think of as they went downstairs.

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><p>The family gathered in the small library before dinner with their guest, Mr. Evelyn Napier. Violet had just arrived, feigning surprise at his presence, giving a vague greeting ("Dear me, it's been so long!"), and taking his hand gingerly. She then pursed her lips, sinking into a chair by the unlit fire. "And how are you recovering, Mr. Napier?" she now inquired, with all the solicitude she believed due to a wounded soldier.<p>

"Better every day, Lady Grantham," was Evelyn's cheerful reply.

His optimism did not affect her, as Violet stole a cautious look at his right side. "But your arm! Can you—"

Evelyn inhaled sharply, smiling. "I'm quite fit to help myself at dinner." He gave a show of moving his fingers. "I can almost write letters, too. I'm left-handed, you see."

Everyone sat tacitly, sympathetic to his plight of being cross-examined by Violet but either unwilling or unable to help him. Edith thought he held his ground admirably, as Carson entered to announce dinner.

Cora led the way into the dining room, and no sooner had they sat down than Violet open fire again. "Is your father well? What is he up to these days?"

Evelyn was seated between Mary and Edith; he hadn't the time to even start on his pheasant, the first non-army dish since a time he could hardly remember. "He's quite well, managing the estate for the most part—sitting in Parliament—"

Robert cut in—"He knows you're here, of course? You've written to him?"

"Oh yes. In fact, he recommended that I come to Downton. Naturally, he didn't know how much trouble it would be to get me here."

Mary spoke up. "Really, it's no trouble at all. We're all so delighted to have you here. Aren't we, Edith?" She glanced across Evelyn's half-raised fork to look pointedly at Edith, who returned a stare of puzzled annoyance, refusing to blush or even look at Evelyn.

"We're _all _delighted," Edith replied.

Cora cleared her throat after a lull of silence. "What do you plan on doing after the war? Or is it too soon to ask?"

"I don't know yet, but I think it's safe to say that I won't be returning to the front, not the way I am."

"Helping your father with the estate, perhaps?" Robert suggested.

"Perhaps, though my father does quite well on his own."

Violet made her way back into the firing line. "You were—_political _before the war, weren't you? They'll have a great need of sly diplomats in the aftermath."

Evelyn smiled. "If duty calls, I certainly won't avoid it."

Mary smiled back, shifting her gaze between Evelyn and Edith. "But you're here now; you'll have plenty of time to work all of it out."

Without a doubt, Edith knew this was directed at her. Mary had such a way with saying exactly what she wanted and caring little of how others should react. Edith decided she would deal with it all after dinner, and she now struck up a listless conversation with Sybil, asking about her shift, the new officers, whether or not she thought Captain Marley rather priggish…

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><p>Edith caught Mary just as the women prepared to leave the dining room to Robert and Evelyn, their port and cigars. She grasped Mary's wrist and walked her slowly behind the other three. "Mary," she whispered, with more than her usual share of urgency," What on earth are you doing?"<p>

"_Somebody _has to do the throwing."

"Throwing?"

"Yes," Mary said in a bored voice, "If you won't _throw_ yourself at him, I'll _throw_ him in your way, so you don't _throw_ this opportunity away."

"Say that word again and I'll—" Despite her frustration, Edith fought a desire to laugh.

"Edith, dear!" Violet called from the other side of the room. "Won't you throw back the curtain? There aren't any servants to do it—"

Mary giggled. "You can always count on Granny to say the right thing." She squeezed Edith's arm, grinning. "Believe me or not, I want to make this right for you. We don't always have to fight, you know. Please trust me; just this once."

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><p>For the first time since Downton became a convalescent home, the Crawleys had a guest at dinner, a guest who wasn't either the Dowager Countess, Lady Rosamund Painswick, or even Mrs. Crawley. This was refreshing for both the family and the downstairs staff, who hadn't served anyone but officers and officers for the past few weeks. They hardly noticed that Evelyn Napier was an officer, too.<p>

As was their custom, the staff sat down to dinner and gossip after the ladies went through to the small library. Today, the atmosphere was more lively than usual, as the subject of Mr. Napier's return provided a welcome respite from talk of war news, Huns, and wounded soldiers. For that hour, at least, it almost seemed like a foray back to the days before August, 1914. Even Mr. Carson looked less stern as he presided over the table.

Miss O'Brien stared around coolly as she sipped her lamb stew. "He's back for Lady Mary then?"

"I should think not," said Anna. "She's set her mind on marrying Sir Richard. And besides, she wouldn't marry Mr. Napier anyways."

"And why not?" Daisy piped.

"Oh, this and that." Anna brushed the question aside.

Mrs. Hughes sighed, glancing at Mr. Carson. "Well, he's a nice man."

"I can't think why he's here at all, when you think of how hard it is to get officers transferred," Mrs. Patmore puffed. "More work for us!"

Carson let out an officious cough. "Lady Branksome was, before she died, a great friend of her Ladyship—"

"—And Mr. Napier is the heir to a great estate," O'Brien finished with a considerable dose of cynicism.

"What are you implying, Miss O'Brien?" Anna asked knowingly.

"Nothin'. Just that they'd be foolish not to snag him for Lady Edith or Lady Sybil."

"You're quite the seer, Miss O'Brien," Mrs. Hughes replied calmly. "And who would you award him to?"

O'Brien's serious face belied the jocularity of the others. "I can't say, Mrs. Hughes. It's a lofty prize."

Anna laughed. "Lady Sybil certainly won't have him."

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><p>"No." To her own surprise, Edith felt herself utter just that one word, as Mary gaped at her.<p>

"But—"

More than anything else, Edith felt relieved. She said what she really wanted to say, even though it was in the heat of a moment. Evelyn was nice, gentlemanly, rich enough, high enough in society, and generally everything a girl like her could wish for. But why did she have to be the one who was _lucky enough _to even have a chance of "getting him"? She should be _grateful_ that Mary was _letting _her "have a go" at Evelyn. She was being stubborn and intractable, but what choice did she have? _None as good as the one in front of you, _she could hear Mary, her parents, and Violet saying. _Be reasonable, Edith. _But she couldn't. She wouldn't. Not now.

The deluge of conflicting voices subsided, and Edith was able to respond. "Mary, there's no use in telling me what I already know. You're the stubborn one, but I'll play that role today."

"Edith—"

As though on cue, Robert and Evelyn entered. _Luckily. _Now she wouldn't have to say anything more to Mary.

Robert joined Cora, Violet, and Sybil by the cold hearth, leaving Evelyn to Mary and Edith, who stood in the farthest corner of the small library.

"May I join you?" Evelyn ventured with the certainty of receiving an affirmative answer.

Mary smiled, but without her previous enthusiasm. "Of course."

Edith found herself unable to look him in the eye, much less attempt conversation.

Thankfully, Mary had the answer. "Shall we go over there?"

It seemed a blessing to join the others, listening to their pleasant chatter and smiling along. Edith felt relieved to hear the soldiers' muffled laughter across hall as Carson entered.

"When will all this be over?" Violet sighed with a rhetorical air, waving her stick toward the door. She had sunk into the habit of never failing to comment on their "being relegated to using the small library as a drawing room" and blaming Isobel Crawley profusely.

Ever prepared to fight another onslaught of her lamentations, Robert answered calmly, "You'll have to ask Mr. Lloyd George, Mr. Wilson, and the Kaiser."

_Being silly. _Edith knew what Violet and Cora would say if they heard what she said about Evelyn Napier. Mary would tell them, and they would laugh about how foolish she was. Edith stood up. "I think I'll go to bed now."

"Are you alright?" Cora asked, standing up and placing a hand on Edith's arm.

Edith smiled in assurance. "I'm perfectly fine, just a bit tired."

As Edith turned to walk out, Evelyn got up, as though to follow her. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm feeling a little fatigued myself. If you'll excuse me."

_And I couldn't have planned that any better. _Imaginings of Mary's smug voice rang in Edith's mind as she walked up the stairs, pretending not to hear Evelyn's approaching footsteps.

"Lady Edith!" How easily he subsided back to formality when he could no longer sense an easy pleasantness forming between them.

Edith turned around. "Mr. Napier."

"I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to show me the gardens tomorrow." He felt his tongue tripping over the words. "I never got to see them the last time I was here."

She placed a hand on the banister as her heart grew a little lighter. "Of course. I'd be glad to." It wasn't his fault, after all.

Evelyn exhaled an inaudible breath of relief. "Thank you. You've made me feel so welcome here."

Edith had no choice but to smile, wholeheartedly.

They walked, he behind her, up the stairs.

"Goodnight."

"...Goodnight."

They parted on the landing.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm a terribly dilatory updater, so, apologies are always in order. This is a chapter in which Edith and Evelyn enter the friend phase, in which Edith and Mary show some sisterly love, and in which Robert and Cora talk about Edith, finally._

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><p>Edith was making her round in the great hall, chatting with the officers, collecting cups, and dispatching stationery. She was especially busy today, as a new "shipment" arrived of officers recently ejected from military hospitals. By now, she could easily look on the men as merely people, rather than the disfigured, morose creatures they seemed at first glance. They had patched eyes, scarred faces, and amputated limbs, but, as Edith knew, they also had hearts that were eager to be healed and brought out of despair. And so she would go about the hall, putting on her best face of assurance, allaying their fears and nightmares with a cup of tea or a kind word. Idleness, only, was her foe.<p>

Edith had only a moment's repose from work; she was sitting down on a sofa when she suddenly recollected a conversation that morning at breakfast. She had been sitting with Mary at the table before anyone else had come down, both of them determined to keep a vigilant silence, until Edith thought it better to speak her mind. "Mary, I'm terribly sorry—"

"What?" Mary looked up in surprise from her tea. "Don't do that; you never do that. Besides, I was the one in the wrong. If anyone should apologize—"

"That doesn't matter," Edith put down her fork. "Let's just agree to speak no more of it."

"Edith," Mary said with much of her usual air, "Look at us, racing to apologize and talking civilly to one another. Quite incredible, isn't it?"

Edith was happy to settle back into their mutual chaffing. "I suppose it's the war, don't you think so?"

"Certainly," Mary had resumed sipping her tea, and the image of her placid face plummeted back to the present as Edith looked up to see Evelyn Napier walking toward her with a tentative smile.

"You promised me a walk," he said by way of greeting. "Or are you simply exhausted after the morning's work?"

Edith stood up. "No, of course not. It'll be a relaxing walk to the gardens."

"I was watching you work," Evelyn said, rather seriously, as Edith set down her clipoard and they started toward the door. "It's certainly very minute and particular, and not at all something I'd be good at."

"Well, it's not really _work, _and nothing at all when I think of what all these men—and you, too—have been through at the front."

"You enjoy it though?" Evelyn seemed to steer away from any mention of the war.

"It's comforting to know I can be of some use. And it take my mind off things." She led the way out the front door, toward a path that led to the gardens.

"What sort of things?" Evelyn asked. "If you don't mind saying, that is."

"Just the thought of how men are dying in the trenches every day, while we—_I_—sit here and chat about dress fittings and tea menus. The unimaginable horror—"

Evelyn's face furrowed and paled, as if talk of trenches and horrors brought him back, suddenly, to a time not long past. "Truly unimaginable—" he said, though he couldn't yet bring himself to say more.

Edith nodded in sympathy. She couldn't help wondering at his story, like the stories of all the wounded men, those she saw every day yet knew nothing of—nothing of the hell they came back from. "Of course, I could never understand—"

"You could, but I wouldn't want you to."

"No?"

"No." His tone was resolute. "You see, I went to war with the thought that I was serving an honorable duty."

"And so you were."

"I can't think of it like that, though. Not anymore. I stood in the dugouts with boys who were barely out of school, shivering from the cold and the fear, stinking of trenchfoot and—" Collecting his thoughts for an instant, he said, "I do apologize. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, please continue."

"That's not the worst of it. The worst is when you ride past the enemy line on the lorries, and you get a glimpse of _their _faces—just as young and frightened as the Oxford boys, their hair darker but their eyes just as hopeless."

"But you had to fight them."

"And kill them." Evelyn's eyes exuded a hollowness that seemed to transport him back. He shuddered. "To think we were killing a crowd of innocent boys, who could very well have been our own brothers—" He was silently trembling.

They walked on across the lawn.

"None of the other men ever talk about what actually happens on the front," Edith said softly.

Evelyn had recovered now, though his face was still rigid. "No, of course not. They wouldn't. Especially not when they stare into their looking glasses every day and see an amputated limb to remind them of what they'd rather not talk about."

"If you don't mind me asking—"

"Not at all." He lifted his cast slightly and glanced down at it. "They got me just as I came out of the dugout for patrol. Could have been much worse."

"You're just being brave."

"No, only thankful."

They now entered the garden. Edith took the lead again as she passed one of the garderners and came to a row of dahlias in full bloom. "I'm terribly sorry that I made you talk about all that, and now you have to pretend to marvel at flowers."

"I like flowers. And I don't mind talking about the war. It's better, really, to get it out."

"Well, I'm glad to be of help."

Evelyn walked ahead a few steps. "Come, now. I'd love for you to show me those pretty ones over there."

Their easy conversation, occasionally mixed with soft laughter, followed them through the hedges and pebble-stone paths. They talked of roses and petals and nothing at all, feeling a lightness and freeness that they seldom felt.

* * *

><p>Edith and Evelyn were walking back to the house house half an hour later, just as Robert sat on a chair by the window of Cora's bedroom, looking down at the grounds. They were waiting for the dressing gong. Robert craned his head further past the velvet curtain and saw the two walking together. "Heavens, who would have thought?" He half exclaimed, half murmured.<p>

Cora looked up absently from her vanity table. "What is it, darling?"

"Edith and Evelyn Napier."

"What are you talking about?" Cora got up and walked behind him.

Robert pointed out the window at the two figures walking side by side. "Look!"

"They're _walking. _Is that a crime now?" Cora smiled in exasperation.

"Certainly not. The point is, well, look! I'm sure she's got a flower." Robert pointed again. "She probably took him on a walk to the gardens."

"She's being _hospitable. _He's a _guest._"

"If you say so," Robert sighed. "We all thought he was back for Mary, didn't we?"

Cora sat back down. "He's not back for anyone. He's a recovering officer who just so happens to be a family friend."

"But not a bad catch for Edith if she can get him."

"Really, Robert, that's absurd. He's only been here two days."

Robert got up from his chair by the window. "Only time can tell," he said sententiously, brushing an affectionate hand across Cora's cheek as he left the room.

* * *

><p>It seemed that Robert's prophesy had some effect. In the few weeks that followed, Evelyn and Edith could be seen searching for books in the library, talking in low voices in the drawing room after dinner, and touring all the gardens at Downton. They had both undergone subtle, but not unnoticeable changes in this short time. Evelyn was still stiffly courteous, but he became less withdrawn as he spent more hours in Edith's company. Edith continued to tend to the officers, and did so with a better understanding of the suffering they endured on the battlefield. She was more amenable, and kinder, especially to Mary, whom she no longer viewed as her mortal enemy.<p>

Edith liked to think of Evelyn as a friend, not daring yet to think of him as anything more, lest her hopes be dashed as they so often were. She found in him a compassionate man who hid his softer side behind the stodgy mien of a nobleman's eldest son. To each other, they were companions and confidants in the forgettablenes of the past and the haziness of the future.

Their spare hours were spent mostly in talking and laughing. Sometimes, they saw fragments of themselves in one another. They both played the piano, he not as well as she; liked novels better than poetry, though he preferred his Walter Scotts and Wodehouses to her Austens and Gaskells; they both loved taking long walks as the breezy country air flew past their faces.

* * *

><p>"Do you think you'd marry him? If he asked you?" Mary asked Edith as they sat in the library with their tea one day. Their casual chats had increased in frequency and sincerity, though neither lost her will to poke fun at the other.<p>

"Probably." Edith smiled. "But, you know, I don't think of all that so much anymore. If we could go on just like this, I shouldn't have any complaints."

"Oh, Edith, you've become so pure and simple."

"Don't you think it'd be so much nicer if we could just be..._friends _without having to think of getting married?"

Mary gaped at her. "What on earth are you talking about? You know he can't live here forever. And don't you _want _to marry him?"

"I suppose I _like _him."

"Do you love him?"

"I couldn't say. I don't think I've actually been in love…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Edith. You would have accepted Sir Anthony—" Mary stopped herself.

"Well, I've changed." Edith looked resolutely down at the plate of chocolate biscuits under the lampshade. "Now, supposing I do love him…"

Mary shook her head but looked serious. "If he asked you, would you accept?"

Before Edith could answer, the door opened, and Evelyn walked in. "Hiding in here with the tea, are you?"

Edith and Mary smiled in turn, beckoning him to a seat near them, by the furthest bookshelf.

"We've got plenty of biscuits, too," Edith said.

Mary got up. "Right, well, I'm going to find Anna to see what she can do about that hole in my tweed. I'll see you at dinner." She dashed away, giving Edith a pointed look.

Evelyn took a biscuit. "I'm just back from the hospital. Dr. Clarkson said my shoulder is mending itself nicely, and I can get the cast off within a month. Isn't that a relief?"

"That's splendid news!" Edith exclaimed.

Evelyn grinned mischievously. "Sometimes, I think it wouldn't hurt to make him—and Mrs. Crawley, for that matter—think my old wound is worse than it really is." He paused for a moment. "Then I could stay here for as long as I liked."

"You'd never do that!" Edith said in false reproach. "If Mrs. Crawley casts you out, you can always come back and visit us."

"But it won't be the same, not really." He propped his chin up, his elbows landing on the table. "I'd much rather be an invalid and have all of you so eager to take care of me."

"Well, you're becoming awfully spoiled," Edith teased. She thought of Mary's question and again brushed it aside. Was this feeling of pleasantness enough to be called love? Shouldn't there be some deeper stirring—an unquenchable yearning that knew no bounds? ...If only she knew.

They talked of this and that until the dressing gong summoned them both upstairs to their respective rooms. Edith met Mary on the landing and was surprised to find her in a state that could only be described as agitation. "Mary! What's the matter?"

Mary dragged Edith into the room and shut the door behind them. "There's something—something I have to tell you."

"Something serious, by the look of it?" Edith was unfazed.

"I've tried to convince myself that I shouldn't, but I think you ought to know."

"My goodness. It _is _serious then."

Mary put her hands on Edith's shoulders and made her sit on the bed. "It concerns your Mr. Napier."

"He's not _my_ Mr. Napier." Edith's smile flagged a bit, but her manner remained blithe. "It can't be so terrible, can it?"

Mary looked determined."Do you remember what happened at the garden party? The one before the war."

"Yes," Edith answered at once. "And no, I'm not angry with you anymore."

"I know." Mary tred to smile. "You know why I did it, of course?"

"Yes—because I wrote to the Turkish embassy about—" For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to say the name of her sister's lover.

Mary took a deep breath. "—about Mr. Pamuk."

"I'm terribly sorry for it now, Mary. You know I am."

"Of course I do. The past few weeks have shown me that."

Edith got up and started walking toward the mirror. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Did you never wonder how I came to know it was you who told the embassy?"

Edith turned and stared at her in surprise. "No, I didn't. All the same, how did you know?"

Mary bit her lip. "Evelyn."

"What? But surely, he didn't—"

"He told me himself when I was in London that summer." Mary looked on the verge of tears, yet she still tried to console Edith. "I truly don't mean to upset you. I just thought it better that you knew."

Edith sat back down. "I almost wish you hadn't told me, but I'm glad you did."

"I'm so, so sorry."

"Mary, I'm not angry with you. Not now," Edith murmured, her eyes still in a daze. "Only, what must he think of me?"

They both remained silent until they could hear only the persistent ticking of clocks, reminding them that the day would continue without respite.


	4. Chapter 4

_I would like to thank everyone who has read this fanfic so far; honestly, if this weren't my work, I probably wouldn't even read it. I would also like to make the announcement that, following in the footsteps of dear Lord Fellowes, I have learned the value of…delayed gratification...As always, reviews are welcomed and greatly appreciated! _

* * *

><p>"I'm surprised Mrs. Crawley hasn't had any trouble with the officers yet," Violet observed wryly as she and Edith sat in the Dower House drawing room one morning. "I can't imagine the awkwardness that ensues when you force all the classes to eat at the same table and sleep in the same hall."<p>

"It's all going splendidly," replied Edith. "I can't imagine why she would have any trouble." Edith had taken to spending her mornings at the Dower House, namely to keep her grandmother company, but more so to avoid meeting Evelyn alone. She would then spend the afternoons sequestered in her room or helping the nurses with their menial jobs. At meals, they were forced to see one another, but never without the company of others. As much as she hated to admit it, Edith missed his presence as someone she could talk and listen to. Yet, as much as she missed their easy friendship, Edith found it hard to even be in the same room as him, now that she knew his inevitable opinion of her.

Violet's dry cough brought her back to their idle conversation. "And can they spare you for the mornings?"

"I'm sure they can. There're plenty of nurses, and I'm certainly not a professional."

"Edith, dear, I don't mean to pry, but—"

_Pry she would, _Edith thought. She knew how Violet had a keen eye and sharp nose for sensing anything that wasn't quite right, and she could only guess at what Violet would start commenting on now.

"Your Papa seemed to think that you've been spending a great deal of time in the company of Evelyn Napier."

"I was," Edith conceded. "I had been."

Violet nodded, as though she already knew everything. "Well, he's certainly handsome and on the way to being rich, though rather a bit dull for my taste."

Edith couldn't help smiling at how she accented the word "dull." "He's not, not really, only a little shy and reserved."

"You find him _interesting _enough, do you?"

"Yes, I suppose, though I can't see why that matters."

"So, you enjoy his company?"

Edith shrugged her shoulders.

A few moments of silence suffused the room. Violet seemed to be constructing the perfect reply. She spoke at last. "I can't imagine he could have enjoyed _your _company for the past week, even if he wished to."

"Granny—"

"_He _hasn't been coming to the Dower House every morning, and you make a point of never talking to him at dinner."

"Not _never_—"

Violet snorted. "I don't mean thanking him when he catches the fork you nearly dropped."

Again, Edith fought the urge to laugh despite her lingering frustration. "What are you trying to say?"

Having spoken her riddles, Violet stewed for a minute before declaring her ultimatum. "Don't alarm yourself, my dear. I only ask you if you plan to marry him."

Edith laughed nervously. "He would have to ask me first."

"He hasn't asked you yet?" Violet looked surprised.

"No, he hasn't."

Violet smiled sagely. "You must think very carefully, then, of what you will say when he does."

"Well, he isn't going to."

"And why not?"

Getting up from her chair, Edith walked to the door. "I really must be going now, if I want to make it in time for luncheon. I'll show myself out."

At once, Violet propped herself up with the walking stick. "You'll tell me before you go." Her voice was low and hinted danger.

Edith sighed. "I'm afraid he knows something about me, and it isn't very flattering."

Violet sighed sympathetically. "I certainly won't bother to ask what it is, since I don't particularly want to know, but really, it can't be so bad, can it?"

"I assure you, it can." Edith smiled sadly, opening the door. "I'll come for tea tomorrow?"

Violet nodded reluctantly, settling back into her armchair.

* * *

><p>As she started back in the direction of the house, Edith saw Sybil walking toward her, clad in her usual nurse's uniform and holding a stack of heavy papers.<p>

"Edith!" Sybil called, squinting in the bright morning's light and catching up to Edith. "Visiting Granny again?"

"Yes, and you?"

"I offered to take these memos down to the hospital and speak to Doctor Clarkson; get a bit of fresh air."

"Don't mind if I walk with you?" Edith turned and started walking in the same direction as Sybil.

"No, but aren't you going back to the house?"

Edith shook her head. "I'd much rather take a long walk now. What are the papers for?"

"Haven't you heard about General Strut asking to come and inspect the convalescent home? Mrs. Crawley and Mama are beside themselves with all the preparations."

"Yes. I think they said something about it at dinner. I didn't realize he'd be coming so soon."

"Next week, at the earliest."

"And you're all managing quite well?"

Sybil smiled accusingly. "Not as well as we would with your help."

Edith glanced down and laughed.

"Edith, I wonder—"

"Not you too," Edith snapped gently, with no real intent to chastise.

By the time they reached the edge of the village, she had recounted the details of the affair to Sybil. "No doubt you think it's an awful lot of silliness," she added, as they stopped by the front of the hospital.

"Why would I?" Sybil asked, with a look a genuine concern.

"Here you are, with your real work and all this; and here I am, still pining away as if the war hasn't happened."

"Nonsense. I'm sure I'd be upset, too, if this happened to me."

Edith hesitated a moment before saying, "And he's really only a very good friend."

Sybil folded her arms at Edith and gave her an incriminating look. "I'm sure." She laughed at the appalled look on Edith's face, and ran off before she could come back with any retort.

* * *

><p>Dinner was the only time Edith saw Evelyn now. She had started coming to breakfast earlier than he did, and Evelyn had taken to lunching with a group of officers who were from his home county's regiment. At the start of their "cold war", Evelyn had tried to keep things the same way between them, but she fended off his attempts with tepid smiles and a stiff civility. "Evelyn and Edith" seemed a thing of the past already. When she called him "Mr Napier," he could only respond with a slightly affronted "Lady Edith".<p>

The following day found Edith walking down the path to the Dower House, greeting the butler, Mr. Dean, and sitting down casually by Violet in the drawing room, where the tea was laid out. It was odd, though, that the table contained not the usual sparse display of cups and saucers, but Violet's entire china collection. "Granny," Edith raised a quizzical brow. "Who's coming to tea? Why do you have the full regalia out today?"

"What? I haven't. Dean manages these things, you know."

"Mr. Dean doesn't do anything without your approval first," Edith smiled at the butler, who inclined his deferential head.

Violet lowered her voice secretively, "Mrs. Crawley did threaten to drop in on us, if you must know."

"Surely she hasn't the time to come for tea, no when there's so much—"

There was a muffled rap on the front door.

"Show them in, Dean," Violet ordered, as he walked out to the parlor.

"Them?"

Violet remained silent as the door to the drawing room clicked open to reveal Mary, and behind her, Evelyn.

"Mary! What are you doing—?" Edith began, but fell silent upon seeing Evelyn. She now turned to Violet, who tittered absently.

"Edith, dear, don't look quite so shocked. I've invited Mary and Mr. Napier to tea, and they've been so good as to join us." She stood up with all her force and majesty, approaching Mary with a purposeful look. "Now, Mary, you know why I've summoned you. I don't want to bother Cora, but Susan Flintshire just wrote to me, asking if she and her _horrid _children can come to Downton if the Germans start dropping bombs on London. We can't stop the Germans, but is there _anything _ we can do to stop _her_? Of course, I wouldn't _dream _of seeming rude…" She steered Mary out of the drawing room, muttering, "I don't know where my maid put the letter…she never puts these things where I can find them, or where she can remember to look..."

After this lengthy oratory, Edith saw the door swing shut as Dean accompanied Violet and Mary out on their search. Edith looked down nervously and wrapped her thumbs in her skirts.

Evelyn tried to conjure up his old humor. "It seems a great ordeal is before us. Bombs in London!"

Edith was less eager to joke. "Did she really invite you to tea?"

"Yes, actually. Last night before dinner."

The silence was louder than their voices.

"Edith, let's not pretend to know nothing of what this is about."

She remained silent.

Evelyn sighed. "Perhaps you might tell me why you can't bear to be in the same room with me unless there are others to occupy it also."

Edith bit her lip, refusing to look him in the eye. "Can't we just forget about all that nonsense?

"All that nonsense?" he echoed. "I'm afraid I can't dismiss it so easily as you seem to." His voice was cold and stiff.

She swallowed, remembering again their pretense for not speaking to one another. "Mr. Napier, I wouldn't have befriended you only to discover how bad your opinion of me must have been all this time."

He looked at her without comprehension. "I don't understand—"

For some reason, the unlit fuse in her became suddenly ignited, as her voice rose in anger and volume. "Well, why don't you ask Mary?"

"I—"

"Well, I hope you aren't going to deny it."

"Deny what?" His words fell like glass shards hitting the ground, matching her rising anger.

Edith hesitated for a moment. "That you know I betrayed my own sister to—a foreigner—to a stranger."

"I—" Evelyn fell silent as the realization came upon him. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it after taking a slow breath.

"There's nothing more we can possibly have to say to one another." Edith spoke to the carpet as she walked out. She didn't turn to look at Violet and Mary, who were standing within hearing distance from the drawing room door, staring at her with expressions they themselves thought to be "loving exasperation". She felt a tear that she didn't feel before trickling down her neck and turning her lavender dress a shade of deep violet. Soon she was running across the endless expanse of lawn, away from her tears and the nameless pain, until she came to the stone bench that guarded the gate of a garden—the one with dahlias blooming. Edith wished he would be gone, that he would take it all out of her mind: his image, his soft voice, his bright laughter, the way his hand lingered for a second longer in hers when he helped her from the car, his furrowed brow when he spoke of the war and the future…(and dare she say it?) the burgeoning _love_ they were so eager to flit between and hide from

Surely, that could all be obliterated when they parted ways.

But he would not part from her, not yet. His image became firmer and more distinct as she saw him walking toward her, ducking his head under a low-hanging branch as he always did. He sat by her quietly for a few minutes, until she reached out her hand to touch his sleeve, and felt that he wasn't an intangible cloud.

She tried to withdraw her hand, but he captured her slender fingers in his. "I wish you hadn't run off like that."

Prying her fingers from his grip, Edith turned aside and continued to stare at the ground.

"I don't want you to run away from me."

She tried to focus her gaze at a small blade of grass that looked suspiciously like a weed, wondering why the gardener hadn't gotten rid of it.

Evelyn reached for her hand again, but she batted him away. "And I wish you could forgive me."

Edith looked up in puzzlement at his earnest eyes. "Forgive _you_?"

"Yes. If I hadn't told Mary, she wouldn't have ruined your chance of happiness."

She gaped at him. "How can you possibly know about—"

"Nevermind that. It's not important."

Edith looked away again. "I'm sure you think I deserved it."

"I don't think that at all."

For some reason, his noncommittal, casual manner aggravated her even more. "Then tell me what you think!" She stood up, as if standing taller could lend strength to her words.

He rose to meet her, continuing in a calm but urgent voice, "When I met you, that year, I thought you were a selfish, heartless creature, and I didn't care a fig what happened to you. But now, I know I was wrong."

"Well, you're mistaken," she said with a harshness that wasn't her own. "What if I still am what I was?"

"Then you're a good lier." Evelyn smiled in spite of her increasing frustration. "You're so good to your family, so attentive to the officers...I see you laughing with your sisters, and caring, truly caring for those unfortunate souls who are so different from you, Edith—"

She felt herself fighting the tears again.

"And to me, you're so very special."

"You don't mean that…"

Evelyn drew closer to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I do. We're not who we were that summer. Both of us. And Mary, too. The war has made us different. As for me…it's taught me to treasure what little happiness we can have." He looked for a moment as though he would kiss her, but he merely traced a finger against her damp cheek and brought her hand to his lips. "Will you…" He seemed to have lost his voice for a moment to the sweet, fragrant air. He cleared his throat with a short cough. "Will you walk back with me?"

The sun hung on the same plane as the highest tree branch as they walked, arm in arm, with much of their former gaiety, back to Downton Abbey.


	5. Chapter 5

_This may be the last update for the next two or three weeks, as I'm directing a play this week, and I have exams next week. Believe me, I would much rather be writing floaty fanfiction for you lovely people, than studying about the American Civil War and embryonic development. Bear with!_

* * *

><p>"Is that all?" Mary stared at Edith in disbelief after she had recounted the "reconciliation" with Evelyn earlier that day in the garden.<p>

"And then he got down on one knee and proposed to me while a fanfare of trumpets sounded and a hundred roses showered down on us."

Mary rolled her eyes but couldn't stifle a laugh in time. "Edith, I can't understand why you're so careless about it. You used to want this so much."

"What?"

"A spectacular marriage and the chance to prove you're better than me."

Edith laughed. "I did, didn't I?"

Mary pursed her lips.

"But for the first time in my life, I only want to be happy for my own sake. Is that _very _selfish?"

There was a hesitant knock on the door as Cora opened it and came in. She smiled at her daughters and her eyes crinkled. "Ready to go down?"

"It's still early," Mary cried, "Waiting in the drawing room is such a terrible bore."

"In that case, would you be a darling and go fetch my brooch? It's the pretty green one that matches my emeralds. O'Brien left it on the chair in my room and I forgot to pick it up on my way out…I'm sure you'll fine it…" Cora smiled as Mary walked to the door with a resigned look, flicking her eyes at Edith. The wooden frame clicked against the lock.

"I can't even count how many times you've played that trick on Sybil and me," Edith said.

Cora laughed and sat down by Edith on the bed. "You're too old to be fooled now. I'm sure Mary has her ear pressed on the door."

Edith quickly felt how odd it was to be in a room with only her mother. Unlike Mary and Sybil, she had always felt distant from Cora, who was so different from her—so lovely and charismatic and charming. Mary and Sybil had inherited their mother's more American attributes; Edith had not, and was used to being an outsider amidst their little alliance of dark-haired beauty and natural allure.

"Your grandmother was just regaling me with her theory of your future happiness," Cora said, as though presenting a scientific thesis.

"She thinks that I'm going to marry Evelyn Napier—_Captain_ Napier?"

Cora piqued with interest and seemed to be holding her breath. "Yes, that sounds about right. And is she mistaken?"

"She is," Edith said slowly, and Cora slowly deflated. "At present."

" Cora sat up straight again. "At present? And what about the future?"

"Oh, Mama, no one can guess at the future."

Cora seemed to realize, perhaps for the first time, how little she knew of her "middle daughter," the one who was so unlike her, so British in the way of being prudish and awkward, who tried to prove her worth in petty, insignificant ways. Edith was the one she half expected to never marry, and who, if fortunate enough to ever have a suitor, would fret over every ribbon and lace before an engagement was announced. That was the Edith that Cora knew, but this Edith sitting in front of her was quite differently wrought.

"The truth is, I like him very much—I might even _love _him, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

Cora opened her mouth but said nothing.

Edith stood up and gave a little twirl in her dress. "And I mean to be happy, Mama. Truly happy."

* * *

><p>The morning saw Edith and Evelyn on a walk back from the village. Through no coincidence, they had both volunteered, separately, to run errands for Mrs. Crawley. They met as Edith came out of the telegram office and Evelyn out of the hospital.<p>

Edith barely looked surprised as he caught up with her. "I can't believe she has you running about the village, not with your arm the way it is."

"Don't be ridiculous, Dr. Clarkson says I can probably have the cast off by Friday." Evelyn tugged at his cast and bandage as if it itched him.

"It's Monday already—that's hardly four days!"

"It's about time. I _have _been here for nearly a month now."

"A month? It can't possibly be that long."

"I was sent away from Middlesborough in the middle of July...and it's not a fortnight to September now."

"Where are you going after that?" Edith tried to hide the anxiousness in her voice as they continued to walk along the path leading back to Downton.

His footsteps came to a deliberate halt as they stopped at one of the farm fences. "It hasn't been decided yet," he said in a detached, cool tone.

"No?" Thankfully, he couldn't hear her heart pounding as sharply as she did.

But Evelyn could hear his own heart and his own thoughts. They were so apt to be evasive, so unwilling to say "the said thing," that his better judgement nearly stopped him—"What would you say, Edith"—He swallowed and nearly abandoned again, but could no longer swallow the half-pronounced sentiment—"What would you say if I asked you to marry me?"

Edith appeared only mildly surprised as she leaned against the fence and draped her fingers against the stubbled wood. As much as she tried to hide it, though, her mind was already racing with flashes of sounds and words and the random, meaningless throbbing that yearned to burst forth. She composed herself easily enough. "Captain Napier, am I to believe that you're proposing to me?"

Her affected manner encouraged him, and he continued in the same style. "If you choose to understand it as such, Lady Edith."

"And what do you imagine my answer to be?"

Evelyn stirred at her clever retort. 'Perhaps you'd say that I'd have to speak with your Mama and papa first to ask their permission, or that you wouldn't marry me if I were the last man on earth."

"The last man on earth!" She exclaimed, "That would hardly be a very original answer. No, I'm afraid you've guessed wrongly."

Her smile was enticing as she stood in a meadow of endless green and her honey-coloured curls flopped in the wind. Evelyn moved closer to her and took both her hands before he could stop himself. "If I may be so bold—" He began, with no intention of saying more, as he cupped her face gently, kissing her—a long-awaited, long-delayed sigh that both of them gladly acquiesced to.

"Yes," Edith said breathlessly as their lips parted. "Yes, I meant to say."

Evelyn was still staring into her now serious eyes, lost in them as though mired in a deep pool of water. "What?"

Edith let go of his hands and laughed. "I might have to withdraw my acceptance, now that you've behaved so very unsuitably! Don't you know there are actually people who walk along this path?" She started to walk again, glancing back at him once every few steps.

"But you've already agreed—Edith, where are you going?" He laughed and ran after her, and soon they were both running. It didn't matter who was the chaser and who the fleer, or if their laughter was too loud for the serenity of the cornflower morning sky.

They came to a brooke ensconced in a secretive rabble of protruding leaves and branches, a cove of green that shrouded it self from the world. Their footsteps slowed and they both sat by the stumbling brook. Their hands lightly overlapped each other on the cool grass. The silence, perturbed only by a few unsuspecting crickets, made them rational again.

Evelyn traced his forefinger along Edith's arm. "Do you think it was too _soon _that I asked you? Should I have waited for a more perfect moment?"

"No. I expected you to."

He smiled. "And did you rehearse your answer?"

"…Perhaps."

Evelyn took her hand as the both looked on the muddle-bottomed brook.

Edith squeezed his hand. "Do you think we could be happy together? Or shouldn't I ask?"

His eyes had traces of humor but he looked fervent. "I can't make sure predictions about the future, but I know my own heart now."

Edith smiled mischievously. "And does you heart tell you that I'm a suitable replacement for Miss Semphill?"

"Ah, so you know of Miss Semphill then. Well, I'd thought as much," he said, shaking his head in feigned despair.

"Yes, I know _of _her, but not why you broke off your engagement with a perfectly charming lady."

Evelyn chuckled darkly. "Charming? Come off it, you know as well as I do that she was a bore, if a lady may be called such."

"Oh, but Granny says you're dull, too."

His lifted a wry eyebrow. "Does she indeed?"

"Don't distract me. Now, what is your story of this fleeting engagement?"

Evelyn sat up and cleared his throat, as though preparing himself for a performance. "You saw her in London, didn't you? Wasn't she simply vacuous?"

"Well, I happen to think she was nice."

"Not as nice as you." He brushed his fingers against her cheek, withdrawing them only when she gave him an incriminating look. "I was only going to marry her because my father said her father could help me out if I ever went into Parliament. It was nothing but a business transaction."

"Evelyn! How can you say that?"

He shrugged. "Papa coaxed me into it. I was too easily obedient because I didn't know any better."

Edith looked thoughtful. "Tell me about your father—Lord Branksome."

Evelyn sighed, his eyes darkening. "He's a little like your Papa, but much more intent on getting his way. Hardly anything seems to please him anymore. He's been so very sad since my mother died."

Edith nodded in sympathy.

"The only thing he likes is the estate. I think it comforts him that something at least hasn't changed for centuries."

"I'm going to have to meet him someday, haven't I?"

Evelyn smiled at her. "I'm certain he'll take a shine to you—you're such a darling with all those wounded men with broken limbs that my dear old Papa's broken heart will be no conquest at all."

"I think that's rather romantic of him."

He blinked at her. "Do you? I was always under the impression, when I was younger, that he didn't love her so well, but I was young; I didn't know about love and marriage—well, I still don't."

"You'll learn. You'll have to." She laughed a bubbly laugh that floated across the water's surface and ounced about the little cove.

"I will," he whispered, easing himself down on the grass and propping his hands behind his head. He spoke meditatively now, "In their eyes, we're a perfect match—you and I."

"In whose eyes?"

"Your parents, my father, your grandmother, the society registers, the newspapers, the lords and ladies of England—"

She leaned over and peered at him. "But this is what you want, too, isn't it?"

He sat up and looked at her earnestly. "Of course it's what I want." _I love you, _he wanted to say, but the words seemed so hackneyed, so meaningless, that to say them would condemn him to a life of being just like every commonplace lover. He didn't trust himself to say them. He didn't want that; not for himself, not for Edith.

And she wanted to tell him that she loved him and to ask him if he loved her, but the frivolity of the words—"I, love, you, you, love, me"—seemed to make it so much more intricate than it was. They were here together and—what more did they need? After all, words were only words. "Then it'll be our little secret." _That I love you._

He smiled and pulled her down beside him for a chaste kiss. _I love you. _"We won't tell them."

* * *

><p>By Saturday, Downton was prepared for General Strutt's visit, which hinted of a militaristic inspection. Flowers for the tables had been cut, linens newly washed and dried, and chimneypieces dusted. A pristine quality suffused the house. At ten o'clock in the morning, the family and staff were duly assembled in a line outside Downton Abbey. Hardly a minute past the hour, a dark Rolls Royce could be seen coming down the path. It screeched to a stop in front of the welcoming party and two men in military brown descended after the chauffeur. The first was a man with mutl-colored medals adorning his uniform and a kind, but serious, face. The second was Matthew Crawley—<em>Captain <em>Crawley, who barely glanced Mary's way as he led the way for General Strutt and his colorful medals. Introductions and smiles were exchanged, as Edith and Evelyn shared a glance. They hadn't told anyone of their engagement yet, and every look between them was akin to a secret that made their hearts race. They walked together behind the party as Cora led everyone inside.

"I can't say it doesn't feel odd to see Matthew Crawley again."

Edith smiled. "I forgot that you knew him."

"As did I. And to think the last time we met was at a dinner when we were both pandering for Mary's favor."

"You make him out as if you knew him much better that you did."

"Anyone could see what we all were up to at that hunting party." Evelyn said the words "hunting party" with a jesting tone that belied his former reluctance to talk of the travesty. "And now I've left him alone in the game."

"Do stop talking in riddles."

Evelyn grinned as they came to the great hall where the officers sat talking and laughing with one another, putting on a candid show of health and enjoyment. The soldiers who could stood to attention while General Strutt walked around, greeting them and asking them about the convalescent arrangements.

The day's tour and inspection progressed without any significant trouble. Edith had to keep reassuring a fretful Mrs. Crawley that Captain Watson, despite his usually irritated manner, had no intention of complaining to General Strutt about the nurses occasionally snapping at him to "pipe down".

Before dinner, everyone gathered in the drawing room, the ladies in their evening dresses and the military gentlemen in their red and black tails. Edith saw General Strutt take Evelyn aside in conversation as she turned to ask Lavinia about the flower display she helped Mrs. Crawley arrange that morning.

* * *

><p>Evelyn was standing by the window when he turned to see General Strutt smiling at him from across the room, like an older uncle looking fondly on a nephew. He nodded his respect as the general mouthed "Excuse me" to Robert and walked toward the window.<p>

"Captain Napier, you're a wounded officer _and _a guest at Downton?"

"Yes…sir, the Crawleys were kind enough to invite me to convalesce here after I was discharged from a hospital in Middlesborough."

Strutt nodded. "I must congratulate you on your speedy recovery."

"Thank you, sir. As you can no doubt see, the Yorkshire air works wonders for one's constitution."

"And you're _quite _recovered?" Strutt looked thoughtful, as though teetering on a precipice.

"I believe so, as much as I can ever wish to be." Dr. Clarkson had instructed the nurses to remove Evelyn's cast the day before, and he was entirely willing to bask in the invigorating light of no longer being deemed "the wounded."

Strutt smiled in his militaristic way, putting his hands behind his back as his tone became serious. "Captain Napier, I have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?"

"It turns out I've heard a great deal about you from a friend in the Foreign Office, but I've never tied the name to the face until today. He speaks very highly of your work before the war started. But, enough of that. I wish to ask you if you would like to return and help the war effort by being a liaison to the French. Your military and diplomatic experience is precisely what we require."

Evelyn's brows deepened into a crevice. "Sir…"

"Surely there isn't anything to keep you from going to Paris?"

As the question fell like a jagged stone, Evelyn looked across the room and caught Edith's eye. The laughter in her eyes broke and shattered.


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm terribly, terribly sorry for my untimely updates! May is exam month for me, and my mind is very much clogged up with enzymes, the American Civil War, and harmonic minor chord progressions. I must also apologize for the rather floaty, not-so-substance-oriented nature of this chapter; I literally have to dig for inspiration from a deep, dark hole. _

* * *

><p>"Should we tell them?" Edith whispered to Evelyn. They sat beside each other in the small library, waiting for Carson to announce dinner.<p>

"Must we?"

"Of course! Don't be silly. It can't be our _secret_ forever."

"You're right. You always are." Evelyn smiled, but the sudden thought of General Strut's offer gave him a chilling pause. "Edith, darling, there's something I need to tell you," he said, but his tone was not serious enough to affect her.

"What is it? I'm sure it can wait just a few minutes. Will you tell them, or shall I?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'll get flustered if we don't decide upon it now. Mamma will be down soon, and Mary's already coming this way—"

Evelyn raised an eyebrow at her. "You really haven't told anyone? Not even Mary?"

"No, but I'm sure she suspects it."

He sighed, deciding that the unpleasant news could wait. Nothing would prevail upon him to cast a shroud of gloom over her bliss. Surely, General Strut and Paris could wait while he stood in the resplendent reality before him…

"…so sorry to see you go, Captain Napier."

Mary's face and voice blended into focus as Evelyn shifted his gaze from Edith. He hardly remembered seeing Mary walk toward them. He cleared his throat. "What? I'm sorry. I was…distracted."

Mary smiled. "I was just saying how sad we will all be to see you go."

"Go?"

"Well, surely you won't want to stay on in this dreary old place when you're no longer one of the wounded."

Cora walked into the room.

"I shouldn't say my goodbyes so soon, Mary," Edith said, looking up.

"Everybody's here," Evelyn said, scanning the room and seeing Mary, Cora, Robert, Violet, and Sybil all assembled.

Edith raised her voice above the din of casual conversation. "Everyone…Granny, Mamma, Papa, Mary, Sybil; there's something I have to say to all of you."

They all turned, first to stare at Edith, and then to exchange looks with one another, while Evelyn stood by her. Their hands entwined together behind their backs.

"There's something _Captain Napier _and I have to say." The silence hummed a tune of agitation that clashed with her racing heartbeats.

Evelyn looked up nervously. "With your permission, Lord and Lady Grantham, Edith and I are engaged to be married."

A brief silence ensued; what followed was everything necessary and proper. Everyone looked both delighted and surprised, though no one was entirely caught unawares by the announcement. Like Evelyn had said, they were a perfect match in the eyes of everyone else; perfectly suited, perfectly expected.

Cora ran to embrace Edith with a teary smile that could hardly hide her joy. "Oh, Edith darling! Robert, isn't that splendid?" She turned to Evelyn. "And Captain Napier—I shall have to call you _Evelyn_ now—I'm so—so happy for you both!"

Robert calmly stood to kiss Edith on the cheek and shake Evelyn's hand, while Violet flicked her eyes and pursed her lips at Mary, who could have sworn that she heard her grandmother mutter something that sounded like, "_So American."_

Mary looked fondly at Edith and Evelyn standing together. She said to Sybil, "Don't you think they look wonderful, the two of them?"

"They do look terribly happy," Sybil said.

"Quite the contrary! There's nothing terrible about it, Sybil darling," Mary laughed.

"Oh, stop that. You know what I mean. They look like they're in love."

"I do hope they are."

Violet gave a dry sniff and said enigmatically, "Well, one is better than none, but not as good as three."

"Granny! You say that as if marrying off your granddaughters were like selling baskets at a market!" Mary cried.

"And what would an Earl's daughter know of selling baskets at a market?" Violet quipped. "Nothing, I should hope."

Edith came toward them now, with Evelyn following behind her. She forced herself to be calm and rational as she spoke. "You were right, you see, all of you. Mary. And Sybil. You too, Granny, especially you."

Violet looked about her as if Edith was talking to the table or the lampshade. "What? Me? Sentimatlity isn't really my strong suit."

"Oh, Granny." Edith kissed her on the cheek.

Evelyn smiled. "I'd say, if there's one person we owe thanks to, it's Lady Grantham."

Violet feigned a sigh of relief. "Yes, yes, I'll let Cora take the credit."

Mary laughed, but looked serious again when she suddenly thought (_quite _silly), as an older sister, she ought to make some sort of impromptu, heartfelt oration. "I don't think I could be so happy even if I were to be married tomorrow. Well, I wouldn't be happy at all, since I don't want to be married, not yet…" She stopped to salvage her stream of consciousness. "The point is—Edith, you deserve so much to be happy, and so do you, Evelyn." That was enough to say.

"Mary—" Edith blinked furiously.

"I'm afraid I'm not one to give marvelous speeches."

Violet cleared her throat. "No, we'll leave that to Sybil when she's chained herself on the gates in front of the House of Commons."

Sybil laughed and Evelyn felt like the only one in the room who's heart was blackened by something not entirely happy.

* * *

><p>Evelyn had to tell her. Now, as they sat on a bench below the looming night sky, he couldn't circumvent it anymore. The randomly scattered stars adorned the darkness like silver confetti.<p>

"Are we _quite _unchaperoned, Captain Napier?"

"Oh, yes, I should imagine so," Evelyn said absently. "They all trust you to be a lady and me to be a gentleman."

"Do _you_ trust us?"

They burst out laughing until their laughter faded into the silence of the night.

"Edith, there's something I must tell you, but I'm afraid you won't like to hear it."

"No?"

"No."

"Well? What can possibly be so ghastly?"

He sighed. "Do you remember the day General Strut was here with Captain Crawley?"

"I'm sure _Cousin Matthew _won't object to your calling him by his Christian name."

"That's hardly the point. General Strut offered me a position in the government."

"Evelyn, that's splendid!"

"Yes, but he wants me to work in the foreign office."

"But I don't see why—"

"As a diplomatic liaison to foreign intelligence and the French War Office."

Edith's eyes darkened as the meaning of the words dawned on her. "Surely, that doesn't mean…"

"I'll go back to the front." Evelyn's voice was solemn and resigned, at once like that of a judge announcing a sentence and that of a prisoner accepting his fate. The air between them suddenly became a tangible gap that threatened to stifle them.

Evelyn broke the silent first. "If you're angry with me, please say so. It's a bad business, I know—"

She cut him off sharply. "It won't be as dangerous as it was before, when you were actually fighting in the trenches, will it?"

"No, but—"

"And how likely is it that you'll be shot and killed?"

"Not very, I'd imagine—"

Edith smiled weakly at his confused expression. "In that case, I'll be glad to send you off with all my love and the best luck in the world."

"I'm certain it won't be for a long time."

"And have you agreed to go?"

"I couldn't refused General Strut at the time. I'm so, so sorry, Edith. If you asked me to, I'd stay. I would, you know I would—"

"But you know I could never," Edith said softly, kissing him on the cheek. The moment seemed so surreal to her, but she held to a tenuous resolve of being strong, in spite of every contrary emotion. "I know how important it is to you. Besides, engagements are so tedious. We'll cut all that nonsense out if you go to France. And of course, you'll be back to visit us in the meantime."

"Edith…"

"See this as a test. If we both pass, we'll have the rest of our lives to spend together, and a twelve-month will seem like a drop in the ocean."

Her words halted abruptly as Evelyn kissed her. This was the girl whose soft eyes and compassionate heart captivated him like the candle captivated the stray moth. Yet, in his heart, he knew her feigned strength and her unspoken worry, just as he knew his inability to change anything.

* * *

><p>"He's really going?" Mary asked with an air of melodrama. She and Edith were dressed in tweeds for a morning walk down to the village.<p>

"Yes."

"What an awful thing, Edith. I'm so sorry. Just when you're about to be introduced in his circles as 'the future Lady Edith _Napier_'…I don't know how _I'd_ bear it—"

"He isn't going to fight."

"That hardly makes a difference these days. Richard knew some journalists and photographers who were shot," Mary said dismissively. "Writers and cameramen!"

Edith sighed in exasperation. "I thought you were trying to console me."

"I can't see how you're so calm about it!"

"Mary. He values his work. Not to mention, his country. _Our_ country. You ought to have seen his face, how it lit up, when he talked of General Strut and working for the Foreign Office…"

"You're right," Mary sighed, and they walked on. "I envy men. They have their lives and their wars and their _professions_—"

"Not all of them…"

"Well, even the gentlemen and the lords like Papa have their Parliament seat or their honorary colonelcy. They don't have to sit in petticoats and fill their heads with these pointless, trivial worries until they can't bear it anymore. I think I'd rather go to war myself than stay home, help change linens, and worry about all the horror I can't see and can't even imagine…!" Her voice rose to a sharp note and her eyes welled with tears.

Edith put her arm on Mary's back. "I'm sure Matthew knows how much you worry about him. How much we _all _do."

"I'm just being silly," she sniffed. "You're the one who's supposed to be upset."

"But I'm not." Edith was determined to convince herself, utterly and entirely, that this was what she felt. "I'll worry about him every day, but I believe—I know there has to be some good in the world—something that will keep him out of danger."

"You can't possibly be such a romantic. What if the worst happens? What would you do?"

Edith bit her lip. "I don't know. What would _anyone _do?"

Mary patted her arm and said, almost as an afterthought, "I'll have Richard put something in the papers for you and Evelyn as soon as he can."

* * *

><p>Sir Richard did indeed place their announcement in the society section of his newspaper: "<em>T<em>_he Earl and Countess of Grantham of Downton Abbey announce the engagement of their daughter, Lady Edith Crawley, to The Honorable Evelyn Napier, son and heir to Viscount Branksome." _Beyond this unassuming statement, however, there was no formal ball or dinner for the newly engaged couple, as the Crawley family soon learned of Evelyn's posting in Paris, and gloomily laid aside all the usual engagement and wedding preparations.

A considerable number of congratulatory notes arrived for Cora and Edith at the breakfast table, but it was hardly a stir. In a way, this was all a relief. It gave them a respite of quiet happiness: the sure knowledge of mutual affection and the freedom from all the tedious conventions that were supposed to celebrate love, but bridled it instead.

Edith and Evelyn had two weeks together before he was to leave on the 7.15 to London, and from there onto Paris. Evelyn had received a few letters from War Office secretaries and Parisian officials: stiffly printed documents that seemed so far removed from the peaceful countryside. After that night under the stars, they said little about the war, because the war had already taught them to do what they could with what little they had. And so they talked and talked, knowing that their memories of each other would have to sustain them for the next few months. They wanted to bare their hearts and minds to one another, in a gluttonous attempt to cling to every sentiment. These recollections would be their deliverance: Edith's secret fear of riding horses, her conflicted feelings towards Mary, the Sir Anthony Strallan ordeal, her pity for Helen Schlegel of _Howard's End; _Evelyn's catastrophic engagement to Miss Semphill, his preference of the Newlyn School painters to Roger Fry, his fear of never amounting to anything as his father's heir…

They had their pictures taken and framed in small miniatures. These would be their strongholds, their reservoirs of memory on the cold, dark nights months later, when they would wake from nightmares, their hearts pounding hundreds of miles apart.

* * *

><p>The place was the train station in the early morning; not as early as dawn, but early enough. There was nothing poetic about it, Edith thought, as she stood and remembered the tales of young girls bidding farewell to their young men who were departing to the front. The tarnished tracks looked as they always did; there was no tinge of particular melancholy. The red brick walls and chipped mortar lamented nothing, showed no acknowledgement of a lovers' farewell. They knew no sadness, unlike the people, who knew it deeply and did all they could to hide from it.<p>

"Well, this is my platform."

"Back to the front," Edith smiled sadly.

Evelyn took her hand and squeezed it. "It's a diplomatic posting. They won't be shooting at me, remember?"

"Bullets don't have eyes."

They both grinned, perhaps another attempt to escape the real sorrow.

"If I'm home before Christmas—"

"You will be."

"—let's get married in the spring." He brought her close and held her tightly, as if the longer they embraced, the better his chance of returning home safely.

For the past few days, Edith had vacillated between being hopeful, encouraging, doubtful, comforting, calm…but now she could only press her face into his jacket, which muffled her sobs. "I don't want you to go."

They stayed like this for what they imagined to be an eternity.

He said nothing, but lifted her tear-stained cheek. "Promise me—" He looked at her earnestly. "Because I can't promise you anything."

"Promise what?"

"To have heart. To always have heart."

Before they could say another word to each other, the whistle startled them and ushered in the steam and sounds of wheels and tracks. Evelyn kissed her on the cheek. "Don't say goodbye," he said, "It isn't goodbye."

Edith nodded, willing herself not to falter.

As Evelyn turned his back on her and walked onto the train, his heavy heart weighed down like a bag of quicksand or a sack of stones; it didn't matter quite matter which. He couldn't bring himself to look out the window or wave to her. _Damn Shakespeare! _Such parting was never sweet sorrow, and Evelyn could hardly think of a more bitter sadness.


End file.
